


The Sky May Be Falling, but the Stars Look Good On You

by RabbleRauser



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabbleRauser/pseuds/RabbleRauser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the last days of Carmen's life, Carlos struggles through the five stages of grief with young Manolo in tow. The rift between father and son grows as Manolo runs to his two friends as a source of comfort, and Carlos is left alone, lamenting what he could not do to save his wife. Obvious spoilers for The Book of Life (2014).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kettering

_Do you still remember when we were little?_

_When we were playing in the park_

_And you asked me, "What happens when you die?"_

_I said, "You forget everything…everything."_

_“Even you?” you asked._

_"Yes, even me."_

_You did not want to die. Never forget._

_The remains of what we used to have were taken away with the softest squeeze._

_How did I forget?_

_How?_

_The Sky May Be Falling, but the Stars Look Good On You_ , Ólafur Arnalds

\--

Carlos was prepared when his father died. Luis was old, worn to the bone from bullfighting, constantly in pain from arthritis; If anything, he was more prepared than any of the family. Although his heart knew the time had come, the pain was nowhere near nullified. 

Three months prior, the love of his life was sent to the clinic with, what Carlos had assumed to be, a sickness that would come and go, no more, no less. First came the fevers, then the chronic pain, the fatigue. Soon enough she was confined to her bed, rarely able to move. He would never be prepared to hear that no doctor, local or otherwise, had ever seen what she had. 

The day before, the doctor came by for the last time, solidifying everything Carlos feared the most. The truth he'd been denying approached so rapidly it struck him like a fist to the gut.

He's not prepared to lose Carmen.

In the dim light of evening, he sits at the bedside, head held weakly in his palms. His eyes are open but they do not see. Hours must have passed as he's sat there, but the sun could have gone before he would even begin to notice. With effort, he eases himself up into a sitting position, hands firmly planted on his knees.

"They'll heal you," he says, so deadpan it almost comes off as cold. "They have to. They'll get rid of...whatever this is. I know they will."

"Carlos." He doesn't even bother turning around, his shame only part of the reason. "You heard the doctor. There's nothing else they can do."

"You can't believe that. You can't, not yet." Carlos stands, circling around the bed before turning to his wife. "They can't have exhausted every possibility yet."

" _Amor_ ," she says tiredly. Chocolate eyes are still full of life, despite her increasingly thinning frame. She smiles kindly, but all he can see is disappointment. 

"Carmen, please." He veers away again in his dance of avoidance, desperately trying to swallow the lump in his throat. "You--you have to let them try, one more time, at least..."

"You heard them," she says. "All they can do is prolong what is to come."

"Then you have to try."

"If I cannot avoid what is to come--"

"You will  _not_  die, Carmen!" He whirls on her, and the bull can be seen raging in his eyes. Carlos quickly deflates, dropping his head and timidly padding back to her bedside, gingerly wrapping his arms around the woman. The bed squeaks as he sits beside her. Carmen doesn't falter as the threads begin to come apart. She's so strong, so brave--anyone can see that, and Carlos laments his own weakness in the shadow of her courage.

"Carmen..." His voice trembles horribly, but that's the least of his worries. Tears begin to pool in his eyes as she combs her fingers through his hair. "Carmen, you...you  _can't_..."

The way she smiles is enough to make him weep, knowing that in due time he will never see it again. He lets her go, opening his eyes enough to see her, distorted only by his tears. Even with the kiss of death, she's just as beautiful as she was when they first met. Locks of russet hair curl into waves, the lone patch of white snaking out from her part. Her eyes are still wide with wonder although they are weary, still holding hints of joy from years past, moments he's probably (shamefully) forgotten. Soft lips curl into a smile, trying to comfort him in her time of need. A gasp slips past Carlos' lips as his eyes clear enough to see death creeping through her skin. She's been hollowing these past few months, there's no denying it. With each passing day he would pray it would pass, that death was an illusion that only briefly passed over her, only to return to the frightening reality that he would lose his wife.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. In the absence of light, his fingers find her hand, taking it from the back of his head and cradling it in his own. "I--I can't lose you."

"It happens to us all," she says.

"It's too soon--"

"Carlos, I don't  _want_  to leave, not now." She hushes him briefly which gives his eyes the moment to overflow. "If--if I believed that something could change this, I would do anything, but--"

"Don't say that."

"--nothing can change this. Denying that isn't helping."

The look on his face is enough to rip into her chest. She can't recall the last time Carlos was in this much agony. He's begging, pleading to Carmen as if she has any hand in the situation. The expanding gravity from the past months is finally getting to him, and denial isn't enough anymore. 

"What am I going to do without you?" he murmurs. Carmen sighs, watching as he presses her hand to his cheek.

"You'll never be without me, Carlos." She smiles, albeit pain seeps through her wide eyes. "You know I will never leave you..."

He manages a chuckle through his weeping, nuzzling her hand like a puppy returning to it's master. "I..I know. I know you...you will always..." The sting of joy is less than temporary, and soon enough he is whimpering. "Y-you'll always be h-here..."

" _I'm sorry, I love you, I'm sorry..._ "

\--

" _Mamá is dying_."

The look of horror plastered on Manolo's face will haunt him forever. His eyes are wide, hollow, clutching his red guitar like a lifeline. There is nothing Carlos can say to undo, or even begin to heal the damage done. The bombshell is dropped, and the debris of the blast cut into him, little bits of Manny's childhood that he will never get back. 

"Manolo," he begins, "I--" It's only then he realises there is nothing he can say.

"M-Mamá," Manolo mumbles, eyes sliding down to the floor before looking back up to his father. " _Why?_ "

His voice seizes in his throat. There are many questions he would rather gloss over, but to a child, that's never enough for an answer. "I--I don't know, mijo."

"She--she  _can't_ , she p-promised she would always be here!" Manolo's starting to shatter, regardless of how gently his father tries to explain. "She promised, sh-she wouldn't l-lie!"

"Manolo--"

"Don't LIE to me, papá!!"

There are tears forming in his pearly eyes. He's trembling under the mass of his father's words; Carlos himself can't bear the weight. Watching his son snap pinches at him from every angle, how can a father break his own son's heart?

The matador's spine snaps and his shoulders drop helplessly, hanging his head in shame. Weakly, he looks down to his son, wordlessly conveying his apologies. Manolo stands defiantly, staring into his father's eyes with piercing rage, anger that Carlos never hoped to see. Moments pass in silence before Manolo breaks the connection, forcing his anger aside and making a dash for the door.

\--

It's been two days, and Manolo still doesn't know that his friends are aware of his mother's condition. He avoids the thought at all costs, but it's not hard to notice he's off. He's crushed, collapsed into himself. He doesn't skip to catch up with the two. He doesn't smile. In the wake of evening, Maria leads him down to the water with Joaquin in tow. Manolo begrudgingly inclines, cradling his guitar in his arms as if he's trying to bring home an injured animal. The three take their places just overlooking the surrounding lake, Maria and Joaquin sitting on either side of him and leaning against his shoulders. There is a peaceful silence as they listen to the waves lapping at the edge of the island, Manolo running his fingers over the strings of his instrument.

"What happens when we die?"

The question is enough to create ripples in the air. Joaquin lowers his gaze, chest tightening. Maria looks to Manolo and he looks right back. He's been despairing for long enough on his own.

"And not just that we go to the Land of the Remembered, but what  _really_  happens when we die?"

"Nobody knows, Manny," Joaquin sighs bitterly. "Maybe you don't  _want_  to know."

"I have to know," he insists, casting a brief glance at the boy. "Maria, do you have any idea?"

Maria holds her tongue, trying to look over Manolo's shoulder to Joaquin, who just shakes his head in response. "Manolo," she says, eyes flicking to and from both boys. "We--we know about your mother."

His grip tightens on his guitar. "What about her?"

Another bout of silence, another exchanged glance between Maria and Joaquin.

"That...she's dying," Maria says softly. Her hand flies to her mouth after it's said, as if it stings to even be mentioned.

" _No._ " His face is dark, eyebrows knit together, shoulders tense. "She's gonna be fine. She promised."

"That's what my father said," Joaquin adds, glancing to his friend. "He promised. And that was three years ago."

" _Joaquin_." Hazel eyes bore through his head. The girl looks back to Manolo, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "Look, Manny--"

"No, don't say it," he says coldly. 

"You can't keep doing this to yourself," she continues. "You're just making it worse."

"No, no, I'm  _not_."

"You have to deal with this, Manolo, maybe not now, but you will--"

" _Maria_ ," the other boy hisses, trying to ease her.

"You gotta accept this," she insists, ignoring Joaquin's warning. "You just  _have to_ , Manny."

"I don't  _have_  to accept anything, because she's going to be  _fine."_

"I know this is hard--"

"How would you know?!" he roars. She has to lean back as she sees the bull in his eyes, scraping it's hooves on the dirt, ready to charge. "You--you don't know! You don't--" Before it's even started, it's over, and Manolo crumples into himself once more. "Y-you don't..."

The expression on his face is pure glass, ready to be shattered by the softest squeeze. His face falls to the guitar still clutched in his arms, his whole frame quivering. He could have been grieving with his friends. They could have shared in the pain, even if it was nearly a fraction of what he felt. His breathing slows as he readies to drown himself in the weight of his mother's sickness.

"I'm sorry, Manny."

Through the rising water in his ears, he hears Maria calling him. Arms are gently twined around him, both of his friends consoling him in the best way they know how. Joaquin's embrace is solid and protective, Maria's is gentle. Security has been lacking in the days proceeding, and Manolo finally lets the walls come down. Tears come in waves, drops streaking down his cheeks as he struggles to wipe them away. Soon enough his breathing is too ragged to speak, but that has never stopped him.

"I-it's not fair, it's n-not f-fair--"

Of course, he knows that nobody ever said life would be fair.


	2. Atrophy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the Sanchezes cope with losing someone who dies prematurely.

_Little porcelain figurines, glass bullets you shoot at the wall._

_Threats of castration for crimes you imagine when I miss your call._

_With the bite of the teeth of that ring on my finger,_

_I'm bound to your bedside, your eulogy singer._

_I'd happily take all those bullets inside you and put them inside of myself._

_Atrophy_ , The Antlers

\--

Manolo doesn't return. It's well into the night, and Carlos felt worry chewing at him, every passing second threatening to gobble him up. His better judgement tells him his son is just at Maria's, probably hiding from everything he (and Carlos himself) want to escape from. Still, he huddles quietly in the room adjacent to Carmen's, back pressed against the wall in anguish. It's a spare room, mostly empty save for a bed and a chest of drawers, as well as a window letting in the last glimpse of light as it falls over the horizon. Momentarily, he finds himself staring wistfully out the window, his mind temporarily disconnecting and allowing him a moment of peace.

Everything is quiet. The crying has finally ceased, but the sadness is far from gone. Carlos lets out a sigh, nearly emptying his lungs of everything but his soul. Never before in his life could he recall feeling this empty. He was no longer in pain, nor angry, only drained and continuously sinking into the depths of the rapidly approaching future. 

 _She's going to die_ , he says to himself.  _She's going to be...gone. I won't see her for years--perhaps that's meant to be a good thing._  Eyes crinkle, but no tears come.  _What's the point of being here if she can't be with me?_

The door opens with a long creak, and he can hear the pitter patter of Manolo's feet as he dashes inside. Part of him wants to go to his son, gather him in his arms and share in the sorrow--but there's time for that, Carlos reminds himself as he hears the footsteps trot into Carmen's room. There will be more than enough time for mourning together.

"Mamá?" The little boy cautiously approaches the bed. He's still clutching his red guitar to his chest, as if it will break the second he lets go. His eyes widen further as she turns to him; these past few months Manolo has refuted her declining state, but he can no longer deny what are now hollowing cheeks and tired eyes.

"Manolo," she answers. His reaction comes as no surprise, as it was hard enough for Carlos to witness her growing sicker by the day. How frightening it must be to see anyone, let alone a parent, in such a condition.

 _Dying_ , the word echoes in Manolo's mind. Gingerly placing the instrument on the bed, he shakily crawls up to sit before her. Curious eyes examine her, almost with fear. Moments pass as he struggles to question what he's plagued by. "A-are...are you getting better?"

She smiles kindly, her eyes softening apologetically. A deafening silence seeps through the air. Time screeches to a halt, and Manolo swears he can hear his heartbeat getting louder with each passing second. Getting no response, his tiny hands grasp at the bed sheets anxiously, his heart rate quickening at a terrifying pace. The worst is far from over, but he almost wishes to prolong the bitter denial just to keep a sliver of hope. Lies have never looked more beautiful.

Carmen purses her lips, turning her head slightly. "No, Manny," she says softly.

"Wh-when w-will you?" he asks, his voice beginning to shake. He's rapidly coming undone again, and Carmen can barely muster to meet his pained eyes. Turning back to her son, she gently places a hand upon his, feeling the tremors in his skin. 

"I'm not sure."

"S-soon...right?"

 _So innocent, Manolo_ , Carlos muses, feeling the lump in his throat grow once more.  _I'm sorry, my son... I'm sorry I cannot protect you from this._  He's so caught up in his son's grief he doesn't notice he's slid down from his standing position, curled into a heap with his back still against the wall. Hands comb through his wiry hair as he listens, a slow stream of sadness filling up his shell once more. 

"M-mam-má--" Manolo chokes before he can say anything more. Tears spill over and turn into rivers streaming down his cheeks, feeling the warm drops on his skin. "P-please--t-tell me, p-papá was l-lying, w-wasn't h-he? You--you p-promised me you--"

"Ay, mijo," she coos, softly brushing his cheek with her fingers. "Don't cry..."

"He s-said y-you're  _dying_ \--a-are you r-really--" He's lost so quickly. Manolo's just a little boy, afraid, in pain, desperate to understand although he hates the thought. Sobs wrack at his tiny frame as he cries, and his storm is more violent than ever. "Y-you c-can't die, you c-can't--you p-promised m-me--!!"

The house is filled with his bawling, and Carlos can feel Manolo's world imploding from the wall that separates them. It is the worst kind of crying; the dry, angry, turbulent cry that can only come out when someone has lost everything. Vibrations can be felt through the air and Carlos swears he's being sucked into the cyclone of anguish. The cries become too much but they are the only thing his brain can latch onto--he doesn't even notice his blood running cold and tears spilling down his cheeks.

"P-please,  _please..._ " Manolo's head is bowed, hands still clutching the bedding, but the rest of his frame has gone limp. "P-please, y-you  _can't die_..." 

Carmen sits in a stunned silence, mouth slightly open as a tear finds its way down her cheek. Carefully, she pulls the weeping boy into her arms, letting him collapse against her chest as if he were a baby again. Her heart pounds after hearing her son shatter, but the soothing beat is enough to soothe him. The storm has passed for now.

"I-I don't want to l-lose you, mamá," he whimpers, his tiny arms tightening around her. "Y-you p-promised, you'd a-always be h-here..."

"And I will, Manolo," she says. "I always will."

"H-how? Wh-what if I n-never--" He tenses, struggling not to think of what he wants to ask.

"I will always be here with you. I promise." 

A gentle kiss is pressed to his forehead, and he visibly relaxes at her affection. Slowly his sobs turn into snivels, the last of his tears dripping down his round cheeks. Carmen comfortingly runs her fingers through his hair, whispering her endearments so all of his uncertainty can be vanquished. 

"I love you, mamá.."

"I love you, too, mijo."

\--

The outside is bustling with energy. The day is fresh and the sun is high, kids play in the streets, while others rush around to do errands and chores. In the distance, the faintest sound of waves can be caught from the shore, masked only by the sounds of chickens and chatter from town. Her wide eyes have become increasingly sore, eyelids lower than they should be. She's come to hate her exhaustion, her illness. Being stuck inside and waiting for the end isn't how Carmen imagined she would go.

"I'm sorry this is happening, mija." 

Forcing her gaze away from the window, Carmen meets the glass covered eyes of Carlos' mother. Without her husband and son in the house, Anita is the only one to share time with. Rarely does the old woman's gaze leave her knitting, but for her daughter in law, she makes several exceptions.

"So am I," Carmen answers. "But I am at peace with it. I wish I could say the same for my boys." Her gaze falls to her hands, cradled in her lap.

"Manolo is just a boy, a little boy. One day he will understand. Carlos, however," the grandmother sighs, pausing her craft momentarily. "He will not recover easily."

"I know." Carmen tightens her lips, her brow furrowing. "He blames himself for things he cannot control."

"Ay, Carlos. He is so hard on himself."

"You will look after him well. You always have."

"Well, I'm not going to be far behind you, dear." 

"Anita.." A concerned glance is met with a gentle smile.

"You should not have to go before me," Anita replies. "My husband has passed on, I am to be with him soon. You, mija," she says, nodding towards Carmen, "You should have my years. I know you would make good use of them."

The woman smiles at her calm kindness. "Thank you."

She turns back to the window, staring out at the day she will never experience the way she wishes to. Her mind reaches out to her son, realising that he's most likely unable to be joyful with his friends due to her situation. Carmen hasn't seen him since the other night; half of her knows that Manolo is perfectly alright, though the other aches to have him home just so she knows he is still here. Time is limited and she can't help but want to keep her boy close, just to hopefully remain in his memory into his older years. 

"What do you think happens when we die?" Carmen asks softly. Turning back, she sees Anita pause her knitting for a moment to ponder.

"Everyone knows you go to the Land of the Remembered," she begins. "However, I suppose we don't really know." Taking up her needles once more, she continues, "I don't think we will ever know; nobody has ever come back from death."

"True," Carmen mumbles, staring down at her fingers. "This whole time, I've tried to avoid thinking that...that I'm going to die. Now that it's an inevitability, I," she halts, taking a moment to spin the ring on her thinning finger, "I'm afraid."

"Of course," Anita answers. "It is a frightening thing, no?"

"And not just about dying--"  _Dying_. The word is almost painful to say. "I--I'm going to lose my family. That's..that's what I'm most afraid of. Leaving you and Carlos, leaving Manolo, I..." Carmen takes her hand in the other, squeezing it tightly as if it were someone else's. "I'm scared."

"I understand, mija," the old woman says gently, offering her sympathetic gaze from where she sits in the lull of her knitting. "It is not unnatural. And we are scared to lose you too, of course. But even though we all die, there are ways to remain in the land of the living."

"What do you mean?"

"If you are remembered, you will live on in memory, regardless of where we go." Anita's gentle eyes glance up to meet Carmen's. "And I do not think anyone could forget you."

For a moment, Carmen feels as if she's about to cry. Her lips curl into a smile as she looks back down to her hands, tracing the visible joints. "You don't think Manolo is too young to forget me?"

"Of course not. That boy loves you very much, and he always will. You will be immortal in his mind, Carmen."

\--

He's eerily quiet for a child normally so vibrant, although his two friends know exactly the reason why. There are dark circles under his eyes, his hair is in disarray, the only sound he makes comes from the lonesome plucking of his guitar. Manolo never seems to return home, as Maria finds him at her window nearly every night asking for a place to stay, and when he finally does, there is no word spoken to either father nor mother.

"Are you okay?" Maria dares ask one afternoon.

The three sit in the shade of the grand tree across the bridge of San Angel. The air is still, cozy and warm in the haze of summer. Manolo sits between the two, Joaquin and Maria both leaning forward to get a look at their friend. He doesn't look up, he says nothing, he can only remain curled into himself, protecting the red guitar with his life. 

"No," he utters. 

Another bout of silence rolls by as the two lean back against the tree. Worry is seeded in both their stomachs. Manolo rarely goes this long without speaking, to his two best friends, no less. They don't dare push him farther, fearing he is too fragile to speak yet, but both see his pain and yearn to absorb it.

Joaquin is the first to stir the quiet, "Do...do you remember when I lost my dad?"

"Yes." Maria's voice is barely audible.

"And...and I kept crying about how life isn't fair?"

"Yes."

He swallows the lump in his throat, his breath shivering as he struggles to keep his voice from wavering. "And now I realise, life... _isn't_ fair. That's some horrible truth, but--" _  
_

Gentle crying interrupts Joaquin's train of thought. He looks to Maria, then both turn to Manolo, seeing his knees tucked into his chest with his arms around the instrument. The weeping isn't like the violent storm he brought in days passed, it's the soft mourning of innocence lost long ago, painfully ripped away.

"I-it's n-not fair," Manolo stammers, his shoulders shaking with every sob. "It's n-not fair..."

"I know, Manny," Joaquin says, gingerly placing an arm around the other boy. "I-I know." Tears threaten to fall from his eyes. He wipes them away as quickly as he can, letting out only a sniffle as he blinks away the next wave. Maria's gaze softens at the sight; perhaps she's seen him cry before, at his father's funeral and once after. It's rare to see him fully let down his guard.

"Hey," she murmurs. She wraps her arm over Manolo and reaches as close to Joaquin's shoulder as she can, gently pulling them closer to her. "It's gonna be okay. We'll get through it together."

"Like we always have," Joaquin agrees. A smile pulls at his lips, his damp eyes closing for a moment as he sits with his two friends. "We'll always be together."

The boy between the two slowly begins to cease his weeping. "..d-do you p-promise?" he asks.

"I promise," Maria answers.

"Me too," seconds Joaquin.

Manolo inhales deeply, raising his head just enough so he can turn to both of them. Each look to him, kind eyes meeting tear filled plates. For a moment, it looks as if he's about to smile, only to bow his head and let his silent storm brew inside again. Joaquin and Maria lean on his shoulders, as if cushioning the impact the world has chosen to inflict upon their friend.

A soft breeze blows through the grass, rippling the silence in the air. Moments pass as the three sit together, drinking in the peace they share in the warmth of summer. Manolo slowly begins to unfurl, uncovering his face and letting Joaquin and Maria get out their worried glances as they see him resurface. The other boy's face lights up as he sees him smile through his tearstained cheeks. She gives the same reaction, a gentle beaming when she sees that he is alright. Joaquin is the first to throw his arms around Manolo, squeezing him tight enough for the smaller boy to protest playfully. Maria giggles as they bicker, in turn embracing them back. A few moments of laughing break the heavy silence above them, and for the first time in the past few days, life seems alright.


End file.
